


just the one

by apollonemos



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff and Angst, M/M, Puppets, descriptions of violence, why? cause everybody loves puppets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-28
Updated: 2017-09-28
Packaged: 2019-01-06 13:41:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12212385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apollonemos/pseuds/apollonemos
Summary: Leonardo puts on an impromptu puppet show. Ezio takes on the burden of audience participation.





	just the one

**Author's Note:**

> based off of this pure and wholesome post: http://doubleleaf.tumblr.com/post/85000552663
> 
> i came to florence for study abroad but now all i ever think about is leonardo da vinci and ac2 and how good my boys are oh no

The mission was not a failure, at least not in its ultimate goal. The man, a merchant dealing in fabrics and corrupt information, is dead and Ezio is alive, uninjured, and out of sight. But the whole thing was done poorly. For all his years getting older and wiser, thinking he had outgrown the haste of his youth, Ezio had failed to plan the mission with the attentiveness it had deserved. Stupid, he thinks, elbows on his knees and head in his hands. He should have been more careful learning the layout of the storeroom’s halls, should have planned his exit more cleanly. 

But he did not, and in his hurry to get away he stumbled into two of the merchant’s personal guard. They were uniformed only thin tin armor and sahes of the man’s family crest. Innocents, technically, although they came at Ezio with all the fury that their wages demanded. Ezio had taken his fist down on the crown of one man’s head, knocking him out neatly, but the other had time to pull his sword, some rusted old thing that Ezio had still pulled his own sword to block. The man’s inexperience made his blows erratic and weaker than Ezio’s instincts could account for, and, after a few parries, his own sword had sliced across the man’s midsection. It was enough to stop him, and maybe even enough to kill him, but bells had started ringing as the merchant’s body must have been discovered and the guard stumbled back, bent stiffly over his bloody hand trying to cover his wound, and Ezio was already throwing himself through the window.

Stupid, Ezio thinks, hands crawling through his hair and pressing into his temples. The whole thing was so stupid. Of course this merchant was wealthy and paranoid enough to afford guards, especially in his own stores, and of course they would be patrolling near enough to his office to cause trouble. Ezio should have known better, had dealt easily enough with even more heavily guarded fortresses in the past. There was no need to get lazy just because this one didn’t belong to a Borgia, not when that laziness may have cost the unnecessary loss of a man’s life. He shakes his head, still between his hands, slowly, trying to disrupt the constant, guilty noise in his head.

Even through all this, he knows when a man sits on the bench beside him. Besides being able to see the shadow pass the ground before him and smell the rose and linseed hovering in the air, there is a reason he chose this place to disappear to. Hidden behind a tall residential wall with thin windows, pressed against the edge of a rarely-used portion of canal, this bench is marked in chalk as one of Ezio’s treasured sanctuaries in the city. A perfect hand points outward confidently with a single finger, and Leonardo appears, as he always does, where it points. Summoned by his own design. Ezio takes comfort in the near-warmth of the body next to his alone.

“Ezio,” Leonardo greets him, voice soft but clear, “I am glad to see you well, my friend.”

“Yes,” Ezio says. “Well.” His throat feels as though it's been burned and he couldn't speak even if he knew the words to say. There is nothing he could say to Leonardo that the man would not understand, or at least try to, but even Ezio cannot comprehend what he feels now. All this pain, all this suffering, even the violence -- Leonardo is familiar with it all. No one has been so loyal to Ezio's cause, or to Ezio himself.

“Are you alright, Ezio?” Ezio has not looked up but he can hear the furrowed-eyebrow look of worry in Leonardo’s tone, growing with every second of silence, can feel the quick glance of those eyes looking him over, looking for signs of harm as they're so practiced to do.

“I am not injured,” Ezio assures him.

“That is not what I asked,” Leonardo says, warm voice nearly a murmur, warm hand coming to rest lightly on Ezio’s left shoulder. Even as Ezio lets out a heavy exhale, the hand follows his slumping shoulder.

“I have killed the man I intended to kill, and possibly another that I did not.”

“Possibly? Then he could still be alive.”

“It was a stomach wound.”

“I see. Those can be tricky. Was it a stab?”

“A slash.”

“How deep?”

“I can’t be sure. I hit just below the chest plate. There was a lot of blood.”

“Blood can’t tell you how bad an injury is, you of all people know this.”

“I know.”

“Ezio,” Leonardo says, “the man is probably fine. The alarm was called, yes?”

“Yes.”

“Then he will be receiving attention right away, and there are many doctors in Venice.”

“I know.”

“Then,” Leonardo squeezes his shoulder, “you must also know that what you did was unavoidable, but done to minimize as much damage as possible. Ezio, you’ve done nothing wrong.”

Ezio sighs deeply, digging the heels of his hands into his eye sockets. “I know. Thank you, my friend.”

“I wish I could do more to reassure you.”

“You do enough,” Ezio says genuinely. What has Leonardo not done for him in their many years of friendship? What kindness has he ever spared, what hardship has he not endured for Ezio’s sake? Old guilt flares in Ezio’s heart. Leonardo, beaten by a guard outside his own workshop, trapped like a songbird in a Borgia stronghold, struggling to live comfortably under the weight of Ezio’s secrets. There is nothing he would not do to protect his friend, and yet his very presence endangers him. It is as if he’s cursed to harm others, whether he intends to or not.

“Many doctors in Venice,” Leonardo murmurs thoughtfully.

Leonardo’s hand leaves his shoulder and Ezio shivers, feeling colder for it. The cool maritime airs of Venice are nothing compared to Leonardo’s absence.

“Woe is me! Such a sad and horrid life do I endure!”

Ezio’s brows furrow immediately. The voice is no doubt Leonardo’s, but it’s high and shrill and lilts in a way completely unnatural to him. Ezio wouldn’t put it past Leonardo to tease him, but to resort to such melodrama to do so —

“And why, oh why, should one such as you be so terribly sad, signora?” 

And a second voice! Still obviously Leonardo, but now too deep, and affected by an exaggerated courtly accent that Ezio recognizes from Leonardo’s goofy country boy impressions of the city’s higher classes. Ezio’s head shoots up, brows still tilted together in confusion, and he’s shocked enough at what he sees to jerk back a little.

Leonardo’s got his beautiful wool cape draped around the crook of his right arm, brought in front of him like a veil. Half of his face is peering over the top of his forearm, blue eyes glittering, as are two tiny puppets shoved onto two of fingers of his left hand. Leonardo switches back to the first voice, wiggling one of the puppets as he does, and says, “Why, signore! No man’s presence could be so sudden, or so improper!” This little puppet is dressed in pink, with feathers sprouting out of its pretty, moon-faced carnivale mask to match. Ezio realizes this screeching voice is meant to be Leonardo’s impression of femininity. If he weren’t shocked silent by the whole display he would have lost it right there and then.

Leonardo bends his finger to make the other puppet bow. “My mostest deepest sincerest apologies, good lady,” Leonardo’s voice rolls over the words mockingly, and Ezio know that tone from all the times Leonardo has complained to him about his newest patrons. “But I am no man! I’m a _doctor_!” And, sure enough, this puppet is made of black cloth and has the beaked mask of a plague doctor. Even, Ezio notes with awe, a tiny hat is perched on his head. Nothing less than finicky perfection for the great _Maestro_ Leonardo.

Back to the woman, “Well then _my_ mostest deepest sincerest apologies, good _sir._ ” Leonardo punctuates every word with little jerks of his fingers. “But my ailment is not of body, but of heart!” The doctor, “A broken heart?” The sad and dejected woman, “No! A heart that’s yet to break.” It's funny how Leonardo’s voice will waver on the high notes and rumble on the low, straining to accommodate anything that isn’t his usual soft tone.

Ezio’s suddenly aware of the smile that’s made its way onto his face. He’s staring straight at the half-face of Leonardo in total bemusement, but Leonardo isn’t looking at him: he’s completely focused on this tiny  _commedia_ of his.

“Why what’s the problem with a whole and healthy heart?” the Doctor asks.

“A heart with no troubles is boring to live with!” the Lady bemoans. "If I could be blessed by one scandal, one measure of sin, only then could I be a truly happy society woman!”

“Just the one then?” the Doctor says, sounding thoughtful.

“Yes!” And Leonardo’s voice breaks on this upswing of this empathic exclamation. Ezio giggles at this mistake, and he sees Leonardo’s eyes crinkle a little.

“Well then, I have just the cure,” the Doctor says, and Ezio imagines if it were a full-bodied actor then he might have puffed out his chest here. “Signora, I prescribe to you one kiss!” Ezio barks out a laugh.

“Just one?” The Lady sounds disappointed.

“Yes. Now I must take my impeccable medicinal talents elsewhere. I hear the plague is back. Fare thee well, good lady!” And the Doctor pops out of existence as Leonardo folds that finger away.

“A kiss! A _kiss_! But who will kiss me! Who would kiss me! Who in this whole city has the guts and money to kiss I, the Great Lady Signora—“ At this point Ezio, ears practically ringing from Leonardo’s increasingly shrill voice, reaches out to grab the hand. He brings Leonardo’s finger (the index, Ezio notes) to his mouth and he kisses the annoying puppet, the tiny ceramic mask cool on his lips.

Looking up, Ezio sees that Leonardo’s right arm has been lowered, his full face now visible. His left arm is limp as Ezio holds his hand to support it. It was meant to be funny, but Leonardo isn’t laughing. He doesn’t look upset, just shocked, eyes wide, mouth open.

Ezio takes his lips away from the puppet, but he doesn’t drop Leonardo’s hand. “Now the Lady has her kiss, yes?” He suddenly feels unsure of himself.

“I was going to make the Doctor come back and kiss her.” Hearing Leonardo’s voice, his real voice, soft and unaffected, is a blessing. Still, he's given the wrong answer to a riddle he wasn't supposed to solve.

“Oh.”

“Because she was so annoying—“

“She was.”

“He would’ve heard her even over the plague victims so he came back to shut her up.”

“That’s a good story.”

“Thank you.”

“I’m sorry I ruined it.”

“No, you— I think she would’ve preferred a kiss from you.”

Ezio grins, and brings his other hand to cover both of theirs, folding the shrill little puppet underneath.“Let’s hope it lasts her a lifetime.” Leonardo laughs.

They sit there for a moment, cold in the shade of the buildings to their back, warm where their hands remain connected. Ezio resists some sentimental urge to rub his thumb across Leonardo’s fingers. How wonders if the little ceramic masks are okay, how much pressure they can withstand — especially that protruding beak on the doctor’s mask. He keeps his hold on Leonardo’s hand loose, just in case he breaks something, just in case Leonardo wants to pull away. But he doesn’t. Leonardo just hums instead, a sign Ezio knows means he’s getting ready to put thoughts into words.

“Do you think one kiss can last someone a whole lifetime?” Now he sounds curious, as Leonardo always does.

“Maybe,” Ezio says. Leonardo’s hand is completely still under his, and Ezio wonders at how he’s never seen Leonardo’s hands still like this in all the years he’s known him. “Maybe, if it’s from the right person.”

“Ah,” Leonardo says in the moment before Ezio leans forward and kisses him.

He doesn’t pull at Leonardo’s hands, doesn’t move his own away to pull Leonardo closer to him, just places his lips over Leonardo’s own and lets them move gently there. Ezio is so focused on trying to hold back, to reduce harm where he can’t prevent it, that he doesn’t register how Leonardo’s hand is now gripping his own with that iron-working strength he hides behind his fine clothing and pretty features. He’s already pulling back when he feels Leonardo lean forward to follow him. But their lips do part, and then Ezio is looking down at Leonardo bent towards him, face just inches away and lips still parted and eyes blue and hazy.

“Just one?” Leonardo rasps, and whether his voice is sore from all the vocal athletics his puppets demanded from him or something else entirely, Ezio isn’t sure.

“Or,” Ezio says, bringing one hand up to Leonardo’s cheek, fingertips curving around his jaw, “maybe many kisses, just from one person.” He hopes this is a promise he can keep. He intends it to be.

Leonardo hums and Ezio can still the vibration of it when their lips meet again. He wonders what Leonardo intended to say, and then thinks that maybe this time it's being spoken without words. And, he thinks, grinning into the kiss, without puppets.


End file.
